Silly Boy
by Wassupdude
Summary: You're a thief and a flirt full-time, but a nice boy with a heart of gold part-time. So you lift your mask back up, its lewd grin ready to woo in fake women. Let the party begin.


**Womanizer**

It started with one, then two, then three. You quickly got addicted to the pungent delicate smell of females, their soft arms around you or your face against their bare shoulder, or chest, but you never forgot what truly mattered: bros before hoes.

Some people say you're crass, that you'd turn your head for every female on two legs in the vicinity. It's true; you never denied that the ladies fill up your mind, and sometimes, you imagine Boss lookin' at you as if he _knows_, but like hell he does.

Like hell you do.

It's weird, yet you can't explain it. You fling yourself near a girl, enjoy the immense look of surprise and the flush of her pretty face, work your charm and sparkles and she's hooked to you, more often than not. You hang around them lady strangers, all mysterious and _damn _cute – "Not knowing is half the fun," you say – but it takes a day or two before you got them figured out, before they get clingy and mushy and boring.

Boss's got you on another job, in another bar, or just whisked away to some_ goddarn_ forsaken hut in the middle of friggin' nowhere in Lindblum, so much that you get suspicious: maybe he's aware of what's eating you up, the most obscure of your secrets.

Your suspicions come true a day when you're blowing a kiss downward to a pretty woman bathed in moon rays from the terrace. Boss comes out of nowhere and hits you on the back, nearly knockin' you over the fence, only to tell you, "Boy, ye ain't gonna look through every damn house to find your treasure."

You think being a theater crew's shoved too many plays up Boss's ass if he started spouting such crap outta his mouth. With a finger to your caretaker, you turn around and your tail sags in disappointment: pretty woman's gone.

* * *

At fifteen, you're famous for your less than gentlemanly ways. Girls claim its gross, but you can't help but feel a pinch of annoyance at their hypocrisy when they fall for you. Guys are jealous and insult your slender frame, but you punch their teeth through walls in a drunken stupor, showing them the coiled muscles hidden beneath.

You're a thief and a flirt full-time, but a nice boy with a heart of gold part-time. You guess the ladies are all scramblin' around, tryin' to undo the womanizer and reach the gold in you, but you send their full behinds and wiggly jiggles off with petty words, eyebrow wiggles and other facial expressions 'cause it's always the same, age-old boring routine: flirt, chummy-buddy, touchy-feely and see you.

Again, you feel annoyance dangling from your heart like from a swing. It's like every woman's playing the damn same game: reel him in, hook up and _fuck him up_, like you needed to be changed, like you needed to become someone else 'cause they said so.

_Fuck no._

You just wanna go on in life, have fun and enjoy it all. Sure, in the process, you make friends and help people out, just 'cause, and sure it's nice to snuggle against a nice woman, as long as she doesn't try to sink her strings to make you the perfect little puppet of you she's got in mind.

Well, if they want to dig out nice-boy you, then you'll dig out manipulative bitch them. They'd see who wins first.

So you lift your mask back up, its lewd grin ready to woo in fake women. Let the party begin, motherfuckers.

* * *

You scratch your furry body and the hangover kills you, it's like Christina's screeching and scolding, but a thousand times worse. The babe by you is awake and snuggling up to you, drawin' small circles on your chest and you wince at her pointy red fingernails. They felt good on your back the night before, but now, not so much.

She's babblin' about how nice he is, how amazing he was and how she'd like to be around him some more. But she's also voicin' that he should cut his hair 'cuz it's too long, or at least bleach it so it can become golden.

You leave the babe hangin' for the next few days, until she gets it that you've figured her out.

You take orders from no one, _no fucking one_, but Blank's gettin' irritating with his constant reminders to pack the shit up for Alexandria. You've got neither the mood, nor the time, but Boss finds a way to beat some mood and time in you.

You're drunk all the way there and nice-boy you's still taking a break. A nice, loooong, break, even after they're done kidnappin' Princess G.

* * *

_Fucking hell_ are the first few words to cross your mind. Princess Orange's all high and mighty, but you can't go and blow your cover or Boss will skin you alive, so you pretend you're a nice guy with a bit of a flirt streak.

She gets into all kind of almighty troubles and she even costs you Blank's life. You know it's temporary, but you can't stop that rush of anger bubblin' in: it's her dang fault his friend's petrified.

You'd like to blame her some more, but she's beratin' herself so much you wonder if it's true or fake. You're not sure, so you take things slow, calculatin' it all. Meanwhile, you don't hold back on Rusty: at least you don't a reason to feel guilty, since he's pretty genuine in his old-fashioned thinkin'.

You travel for a good while and it becomes obvious Princess Orange's been shown a four-walled world. It's weird showin' her the ropes of things everyone knows, but it's even weirder when you can't dig out manipulative bitch.

So you're at a loss now. It's sad to say, _Pathetic,_ the Blank in your mind crows, but you don't know how to act seriously around a woman anymore. You've gotten so attached to the mask and parties, now that it's all over, you wander around.

Guess it's time to dig out nice-boy you.

_Fucking hell._

* * *

"Zidane?"

You shift around bed and the smell of burnt assaults you. You make a noise in the back of your throat to let her know you heard her, but it comes out like a moan. Your eyes crack open and catch the flush of her face, her averted eyes focused on her hand playing with your tail. She's got blushing for the wrong reason, but you weren't goin' to correct her. It was fun that way.

"Um… hi." She grins a little, almost sheepishly. "I think I made another mess for breakfast, the bread's all burnt. Could you give me a hand downstairs?" It comes out as a whisper, 'cuz if Steiner or Beatrix catch wind of her words, they'd storm the kitchen and fuss over Princess Orange.

Nice-boy you says _Sure!, _your old mask says _I could give you a head instead_, and you say, "Yah, later."

You wrap your arms around garnet, the treasure Boss's talked about before, and tumble down with the woman in bed. She smells like oranges, she's got soft arms and her nightgown leaves her shoulder bare, perfect for snuggling.

That's what you do.

* * *

_A/N: I've gotten a newfound love for the "you" perspective. I've also decided to try my hand at FFIX. I considered making a FFX fic, but I had no good ideas and I'm sad there aren't enough Yuna/Tidus fics. Pout. And then I discovered Dagger/Zidane. I love flirty characters like Zidane, they're fun, but hard, to write :3  
Also, the "scratch your furry body" comes from HCBailly on YT, he makes reaal good Let's Play for all Final Fantasy. :)_

_-SC_

_EDIT: 27-04-14: my story was taken down because the summary was not G-rated. I kind of expected it, but I wish I was given a warning of some sort to change the summary instead of just taking this down. Oh well._


End file.
